Broken: a Fight or Flight ficlet
by Sexy Meat Pies
Summary: Lindsay was a mess when she showed up in her brother's bar thirteen years after the Blackout. Now that Miles knows why, he has to figure out how to fix her, or she could slip from the world altogether.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: so this is a Companion POV story for my story _Fight or Flight._ Its a look into how Miles saw Lindsay in Chicago after she escaped Philly. Review! Much love to all. :)**

* * *

Miles' POV

**Thirteen years after the Blackout**

Two days.. It's been two days since Lindsay crawled into my bar, and passed out from exhaustion. Two days versus two _years_. Two years at the hands of a monster. _A monster you called your brother_, a voice reminds me.

I frown, raising a glass of whiskey to my lips. I'm on my second glass. One glass for each day. To keep my mind away from unpleasant thoughts, I've been counting the sips. Five. One for each time Lindsay's mumbled in her sleep. Each time, I look up there, worried. But it ends there. She doesn't mumble anything intelligible, just mumbles.

I drain the glass and throw it against the floor in anger. How could he do this do us? _Well, you did try to kill him, _That voice says. Shut up, voice. I tell myself. Ok, I need to sleep, clearly. Between the alcohol, lack of sleep, and stress, I'm losing my sanity. I put the whiskey on the coffee table and go up the grand steps.

I literally _fall _onto my bed, face first. With a groan, I roll to my side, and tiredly take off my boots. I did not sleep at all last night. How could I? I spent the whole night cleaning the blood out of Lindsay's clothes. My head is barely on my pillow when a scream echoes around the room. _Lindsay!_

I bolt off of the bed, running around the track, grabbing my sword. _Bandits are here. Or worse, militia! Maybe even Bass himself! _But no, no one is laying a hand on my sister. As I get closer, I see her, on her bed, alone, her body convulsing, trying to get away from some invisible force.

"What are you doing?" She asks. I get closer and realize, she's not talking to me. She's still asleep. She's dreaming. _Can dreams be __**that**__vivid? _"Bass, stop! What are you... _NO! Miles!"_ my eyes widen as she screams my name. "Help! Miles, help! Miles!" What is she dreaming about? "Get away! No, get-get away! Please!" She starts begging through broken sobs, "Pl-please, stop, Bass. Please." She screams again. In fear, in desperation, but most of all in _pain. _I have to stop this.

"Lindsay!" I shout. "Lindsay, wake up!" She keeps crying. I shake her shoulders. Still sleeping, still crying. "_Lindsay, please!"_ her eyes fly open and she screams in surprise.

"M-Miles?" She gasps, her hair sticking to her face with sweat. "Wh..."

"What happened?" I ask.

"I..." she looks around, so confused. "Bass... Bass is-"

"In Philly, sweetie," I say, soothingly.

"I'm not in..."

"No." I shake my head. She's silent for a bit. "Do you want do get some breakfast?" She doesn't answer. I guess that's a no. "Do you... do you want a book?" No answer. I look over at her. She's staring at the darkness, the distance, her eyes blank, her mouth slightly open, making a kind of circle. Her eyebrows are furrowed, she's deeply thinking. Her hands are just sitting in front of her, palms up. I've seen this before, in Iraq. This is PTSD. She's in that trance. "Lindsay?" I murmur.

"It's snowing," She whispers, void of all emotion.

"What?"

"It's snowing," she repeats. "I want to go outside. He won't let me."

"Who won't?" I ask, although I'm sure I know the answer.

"No, I don't want to go out," she shakes her head a little, "last time I went in the snow, he hurt me. I bled. Red in the snow. Red on white. The blue dipped in it. Red on blue, the snow melted, in the cell." She looks up, startled, "it's Christmas. I'm sick. Sick on Christmas. Drinking hot chocolate in his bed. No hurting. Just sick. I'm so happy." Her soft, half smile falls, "only lasted for a day. Better the next. Blood on the wood. Red on brown."

"Lindsay, stop-" I attempt, but she keeps babbling, her eyes getting more and more fearful. Her hands are shaking as she talks faster and faster.

"Red on red." She says, "red on red. Blood on the red toolbox. Wouldn't know. Box is too red to know. I know, though. I know, because it's my blood. He likes red. He likes making red." Her words become jumbled. "RedonwhiteonthebedithurtsohithurtsSOMUCHPAIN! _No!NO!NO! NO MORE RED! It doesn't stop! I never-"_

_"LINDSAY!" _I yell. I had to stop that. It was terrifying. She jumped, as if I had slapped her. She turns her eyes to me.

"We're in Chicago?" She asks, in the softest possible voice.

"Yes, we're in Chicago," I whisper, trying to not look afraid. The last thing she needs is someone she should trust be afraid of her.

"Morning?"

"No, night,"

"Oh," she says. Then, after a moment, "I'm hungry. Can it be morning?"

"No," I say, with a slight, shaky laugh, "it can't be morning. But you can eat."

* * *

She just sits there, eating the crappy oatmeal I made, her eyes on the table. I've tried to talk to her a few times, but she just shakes her head. Even to things that aren't yes or no questions. How do you feel? She nodded. What are you thinking? She shook her head. But I can't let this one question go.

"Lindsay?" I say, quietly, but she still jumped. "I know it's hard to talk about but... what happened, back there?" She shakes her head. "No, Linds, I need an answer."

"I don't know." She whispers.

"But..." I sigh, "Why did you scream? Was it a nightmare? What happened?"

"Not a nightmare," she says, putting the spoon down, "a memory." A _memory? _Oh, no. That means... oh my God, that means she really cried out for me. She really screamed for my help. And I wasn't there. Oh, my God.

"Do you want to..." I trail off.

"It was one of the first times Bass... hurt me." She closes her eyes.

"And... the snow? What was that about?" I murmur.

"Another memory..." she cocks her head, "I think." I'm about to ask her how she's not sure, but I decide otherwise, "the blue sheet I held, and I bled... onto the snow... Bass- oh!" She covers her mouth, as the smallest of screams escapes her lips.

"Linds, don't worry about it," I soothe, "don't worry about it, ok? Whatever it was, it's over now, ok?" But she presses her hand harder against her mouth, and shakes her head rapidly. Oh, what did I do? "Hey, Lindsay, hey... look at me. Look at me, Linds. I want you to tell yourself this, ok?" She nods, slowly, "You are gonna be fine, alright? You're going to be ok. Say that."

"You're going to be ok," she repeats. I smile, though I can't tell if she's being a smart ass or if she's genuinely confused.

"No, Linds, tell _yourself_ that."

"I'm going to be ok." She whispers.

"You're safe here,"

"I'm safe here."

"Now, believe it." I order. She closes her eyes, and breathes very heavy, trying very hard not to cry.

"Thank you, Miles," she whispers, when her eyes finally open. I push myself off the counter and open my arms. She falls into them and I hug her tightly.

"I meant it," I mutter, "it's going to be alright. I love you, little sister."


	2. Chapter 2

Miles' POV

**Thirteen and a half years after the Blackout**

My eyes pop open as I hear a blood-curdling scream from the direction of my sister's bed. I fling myself away from my own bed, and run over to her.

"Lindsay!" I call. She doesn't hear me. She's laying in bed, screaming, her eyes squeezed shut, tears coming out. Her hands are balled up into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms so hard, she's bleeding.

"Get off of me!" She screams, although no one touches her, "Get the_ hell_ off of me!" The way she's laying... her arms looked like they're pinned to the bed by invisible hands. Her legs are spread apart... oh God. The dream is actually vivid enough that she's laying as if _he_ is on top of her.

"Lindsay, it's ok!" I call. I'm a little afraid to approach her. But, I'm more afraid of what will happen if I don't wake her. So, I walk over to her, and gently put a hand on her shoulder. It doesn't help, she keeps screaming.

"Bass, please, stop," She pleads. I cringe. To hear my sister plead with the man who I called my best friend, my brother, "Please, I'm in so much _pain_!" I shake my head, anger bubbling up in my chest. He hurt my sister!

"Lindsay!" I say, louder, shaking her shoulder. "Lindsay, wake up!" Her eyes open suddenly, but she doesn't relax. Her wild eyes just flit around the place, her arms flinging now, trying to push me away.

"Get away!" She screams, "Why? Why are you doing this!?" I take her hands and slowly, gently push them away.

"Linds, it's me," I say softly, "Miles. It's your brother."

"I don't know where he is!" She screams. "I swear! Bass, _please_! I will do anything... _anything_ you want. But please, get off of me!"

"Lindsay!" I scream, because I can't stand this any longer. This was because of me. She was hurt, _raped_, because of me. I can't deal with that. I put a hand on her face, and call to her. Slowly, finally, her eyes rest on mine, and I watch while they focus.

"M-Miles?" She asks, as her body relaxes slightly. She slides so she can sit up, leaning back on the pillows.

"Yeah," I murmur, nodding my head. "Are you ok?"

"He... he's not here?" She asks.

"No, sweetie, you were dreaming," I whisper. She breathes heavily, trying to understand. Then she shakes her head furiously.

"No! No, Bass is _here_, Miles!" She screams. "He was... he was on top of me!" I sigh.

"No, Linds, I promise, he wasn't," But she's hysterical. So I do the one thing that worked the first few times this happened. "Linds. Lindsay, look at me. Sweetie, _look at me_!" She doesn't. I put my hands on her face, turning it towards mine. She looks at me, fear in her eyes. "Do you remember the summer we went to the beach after your senior year? Just the family?" She nods slightly. "Yeah, we went to Florida, or South Carolina, or-"

"It was North Carolina," She whispers. I breathe in relief, "Holden beach. And you kept chasing the seagulls, and Ben was sick. And mom and dad kept trying to get pictures and I was... I was..."

"You kept floating out, farther than you should've gone," I murmur, smiling a little, "And I had to come and get you." She nods. I think she's out of her illusion. She breathes lighter now, and she looks around.

"We're in Chicago?" She asks, like she usually does. I nod.

"Yes, we're in Chicago," I repeat. She nods, silently.

"What time is it?" She asks, after a moment.

"Don't worry about it, Linds," I start, but she cuts me off,

"What time, Miles?"

"Just about three a.m." I mutter. She groans.

"I'm sorry," Is the first thing out of her mouth. _Stop apologizing!_ She never used to apologize for little things! Now, if she bumps into me, all I hear is 'I'm sorry, Miles, I'm so sorry'. He changed her. That's all there is to it.

"Don't worry about it," I assure her. "Let's go get some breakfast," She nods, and follows me out to my kitchen. I feed the stove with. I have to wait for it to heat up now. I look at her carefully, as she sits at the table, staring at her hands. I get out the bandaging and sit across from her. She pulls away, but then looks up, realizes its only me, and puts her hands back on the table.

I can't believe this. My headstrong, stubborn little sister has been kicked around by our best friend for two years! He _used_ her. And only half because of me. The torture that Strausser did, that was because of me. But Bass raping her, that was for _him_. Even if she told him where I was, he would probably have kept on doing it. Still, I wish she would have sold me out. Then, at least the torture would have stopped. She doesn't even know what it's called, the things he did. But I do. I know the name of every technique she's described.

She looks around, a sad look in her eye. The worst part is, she thinks its her fault. She thinks it's her fault, because she didn't come with me. I'll admit, she should've come. That's obvious. But I did not think Bass would go as far as he did. I thought she would be been safe there. I never should have left her there. It's my fault.

Lindsay is fragile now. She's insisted on working at the bar, but one thing can trigger a memory and suddenly, she's back in Philadelphia, with Bass. I don't know how to help her. All I can do is give her food and comfort.

I look up to the stove, and start making oatmeal. It's all I really can make. She's cooked for me, a few times. But we usually wake up when she screams, with a nightmare, and then she's near catatonic.

My biggest fear is that someday she'll go full catatonic. She won't snap out of it. She'll never smile again. Her hands won't even lift to rub her necklace, to calm herself. Her necklace... that Bass broke. It symbolizes everything he did to her, I think. And the sad part is, I don't think it can be fixed.

I send Lindsay out to the bar. It's something I hardly ever do, let her go alone. What if militia comes in? What if she has a breakdown? And then there's those dicks in the bar, who flirt with her constantly.

But today, I have something I have to do. I have to clean. I have to get rid of anything that could remind her of Bass. Or of Philly. Or of anything bad. I look around. I like this place, I guess. Lindsay's told me it looks very nice. The steps in the middle lead up to a ring, a balcony, like a walking track. Up there are two beds: mine and Lindsay's. And, of course, some bookshelves, for her. Downstairs is just a lot of couches and chairs and memorabilia. I don't know why it's all here. It was here before I was.

I go up the stairs, first, and go to Lindsay's bed. We're in a hotel. She could have had any room. But she didn't feel safe too far away. Because of Bass. God, how did we get here?

* * *

_**Night of the Blackout**_

_I glance over at Bass, texting away on his phone, then back to the road. I shake my head. _

_"C'mon, Bass, why don't you just call her?" I ask, because he's been complaining every few seconds that she won't text back fast enough._

_"She's twenty-two," He scoffs, "No one even calls anyone anymore." He chuckles, "Besides, you wanna give me tech advice? You with your big, Casio 80s brick phone?" I nod sarcastically._

_"Ok, alright," I roll my eyes. _

_"Hey, Miles, seriously," He asks, putting his phone down for a minute. He turns down the radio. "Does it, uh, does it bother you I'm dating your sister?"_

_"No, Bass," I wave it off._

_"You sure, man?" He asks, "I feel like-"_

_"Look," I tell him, "Bass, you've loved her for a long time. And now, you've found out she loves you back. It's not that big of a deal." I don't know if that's true. I am a little bothered by it. Bass can be a bit of a womanizer. Now he's with my sister? I don't know. But I don't think he'll ever be like that with Lindsay. He's always been very sweet to her. _

_"Ok, because I just want to make sure-"_

_"Bass, even if it did bother me," I mutter, "It's not like you have to stop." _

_"It does bother you!" He snickers. _

_"Yeah," I throw one hand up, the other on the wheel. "Yeah, ok, it bugs me. She's my sister, you know? I don't like the thought of my little sister with anyone." He nods. Then, because he's Bass, he has to mess with me._

_"Oh, oh, she's sending pictures!" He laughs, tilting the phone towards me. I grab it from him, because if Lindsay sent him nudes, I swear to God I will toss this phone out of the window. I look at it, and it's a photo of a freaking apple pie. _

_"What the hell is this?" I demand. _

_"She sent me pictures," He says, bursting with laughter, "Of an apple pie she's trying to make tonight." I scowl at him. Joking about my sister... haha. Very funny. I toss the phone at him._

_"You are a dick, Bass," I shake my head. Then, my own phone rings, and I look at it. "It's my brother," I flip it open, "Benjamin!" _

* * *

I pull away Lindsay's blanket and find small drops of blood on the sheets, from her palms. I sigh, and strip it off. I'll burn them later. I suck at laundry, and stains like this won't come out with just one wash.

I go through the doorway and break open into one of the hotel rooms. I really wish Lindsay would stay in one of these rooms. They're so much more... I don't know, liveable. They've got their own kitchens, and I could put in an oil stove. A fireplace, bigger, more comfortable beds, tubs, couches, it's like a little apartment. Od course, I get why she doesn't like these: they remind her of Philly. Nonetheless, I strip the sheets off of this bed and carry them out to hers, making it up.

Next, I move to the bookshelf, and pick up her books, putting them away neatly, the way she likes. Any of these books can set her off, though. Then there's her book I bought. _A Hundred Historical Places in New England_. It has so many pictures of Bass. But she clings to this thing sometimes, I can't throw it out.

This is all my fault. _All my fault_. I left her with Bass. And why did I leave? Because of what he'd done! Rachel is dead, so why did I think he wouldn't hurt my sister? Because he loves her? No, Bass loves her. But Bass isn't himself. He's General Monroe. But then... am I still Miles? It's all so confusing. I've done terribke things. What I did to Rachel... no, I can't even think about that.

I go to the sideboard in the downstairs, and grab some whiskey. My eyes land on MacCutchen scotch. Bass' favourite. So often would he and Linds sit and drink that together. I'm sure that's what got him drunk enough to do what he did.

She can't see that. I push it back behind the other bottles. She'd be pissed that I'm drinking any of these. Nonetheless, I gulp down the whiskey, looking around. The broken bottles from months ago have to go. It'll only remind her of Bass. I know how he got when he was drunk. He'd throw bottles to the ground like they were leaves. I sweep them up, when I smell something. Something good. I look around, and hurry into the kitchen. There I find Lindsay, cooking something.

"What're you doing?" I ask, with a laugh, sheathing my knife.

"You didn't eat anything," She says quietly. "You sent me away, I'd thought you were going to eat. But, I found you cleaning, and I knew you hadn't eaten anything," She won't look at me in the eye. "And... then I figured you just wanted to be alone, so I thought I'd make you breakfast, and then stay at the bar all day." Tears spark in her eyes. She's the only one who got mom's green eyes. Ben and I got dad's. "And then I thought maybe you didn't want me to come back at all. And I'm sorry, Miles, but I can't leave. I'm too scared. But I can at least cook for-"

"Lindsay, stop," I say, silencing her. "I don't want you to leave."

"How can you not?" She asks, "I'm a pain in the ass, I woke you up at three a.m. for the third time this week!"

"Because you're my sister," I reply, moving towards her. "And because I love you. I don't want you to leave. I want you to be safe." I sit down as she slides an omelet onto the table. I take a bite of it. I honestly don't think she's capable of doing anything right now. I'm only eating it to humour her. But, dear God, was I wrong. This is _fantastic_.

"I only had eggs," I look up to see her playing with the hem of her shirt. It's the one she came here in. It's the first time she's worn it in six months. "and I used the last of the cheese, but-" "Lindsay, this is amazing," I stop her from babbling, "And, if you want, hell, by all means, please, keep cooking." Her face lights up. "Just, promise me you'll cook for yourself too." She nods, still smiling. I said it because I know, if I don't make her eat, she won't. Then again, clearly she's getting better. I watch her put away the cooking stuff, while her necklace flies around. Maybe some things can be fixed after all.


End file.
